


On Her Skin

by katajainen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Introspection, One Shot, Sharing Clothes, Short One Shot, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne helps herself to Jaime's wardrobe. He approves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Her Skin

**Author's Note:**

> My first ficlet in the ASOIAF/Game of Thrones verse... Not much in the way of plot, just an idea that wouldn't go away and ended up becoming Jaime/Brienne domestic fluff, since it wouldn't fit any other OTP properly. Rated Teen for the kind-of-there pre-smut.

Brienne unbuttoned the shirt from the hem up, like she always did. Jaime leaned on the doorframe of the bedroom and watched her, his eyes trailing along the sleek expanse of her stomach as it was gradually revealed, drinking in the contrast of pale freckled skin and the steel blue pinstripe.

Her fingers were undoing the last button at the top when it clicked. Jaime narrowed his eyes.

“Now wait a second – Bri, is that _my_ shirt?”

Brienne stopped and looked up.

“I had nothing clean at your place.” she explained. “I was in a bit of a rush, so I guess I forgot to ask you. Sorry.” She smiled in a way that made Jaime recall exactly why she’d been in a rush this morning. In vivid detail. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Jaime walked up to her and ran his hands down her arms. “Keep it.” he said. “It suits you.” It should have been strange that something made to measure for him should have fitted Brienne so well. But it looked right on her, like it belonged on her skin. Rather like Jaime himself fancied he belonged on her skin. “Since when did you wear men’s shirts anyway?” he wondered aloud.

Brienne laughed. “Since I was fifteen. Ladies shirts always have too short sleeves...” she fell silent for a moment. “Seriously, Jaime. You’ve seen me undress for what, for the past two months, and _now_ you notice?”

Jaime slid the shirt off her shoulders and planted a kiss on the exposed skin. “Maybe I’ve been too busy taking your clothes off to notice which way you button your shirt.” He let the shirt fall to the floor, trailing his fingers under Brienne’s arms, raising goosebumps on the way.

“Not on the floor!” Brienne protested. As she bent down to lift the discarded garment, Jaime took the opportunity to unhook her bra. She always wore a sports bra. Jaime had never seen her in anything else; when he’d teased her about wearing sports underwear to a desk job, she’d told him to try working at the public defender’s office for a week and see if it wasn’t a contact sport. A rough one. Practical down to her underwear, Brienne was, and Jaime wouldn’t have had her any other way.

“You know what?” he asked quietly, pressing himself against her bare back. “That shirt looked so good on you that I think I’ll just let you ransack my entire wardrobe – take the shirts, take the ties... Seven hells, you can take my _suits_ if you want to. I have too many anyway.”

Brienne laughed. “You can keep the suits, if you don’t mind. I _am_ taller than you, remember?”

“By an inch. By a lovely, lovely inch.” Jaime kissed the back of her neck and wound his arms around her to cup a breast in each hand. “But you take your pick. What’s mine is yours as well.”

Brienne leaned back against him and giggled breathlessly. “Careful, Jaime.” she whispered. “That sounds almost like a proposal.”

“Maybe it was. And you’re just laughing at me, you horrible wench.” That only made her laugh more – or maybe it was the way Jaime danced his fingers across her ribs.

He didn’t realize it at the time. The thought didn’t yet cross his mind an hour later, when he lay snug against her back, breathing in the scent of her hair, the glow of her sweat still salty on his tongue. It didn’t dawn to him in the morning at the kitchen, when Brienne stood against the counter, flicking through her tablet, and downed her still-hot coffee in small, hurried gulps. Jaime knew he was making a mess of Brienne’s ordered and scheduled existence, but as she looked up and smiled at him over the rim of her cup, he found he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was another morning, several days later, when the revelation quietly snuck up on him. Brienne had ripped a cleaners’ bag open with a dry “thhrrpp” sort of noise and was slipping into one of Jaime’s shirts like she had been doing so since forever. It was then Jaime caught himself thinking how much he wanted her to never stop doing that. How much he wanted her to dress in his clothes, to wake up in his bed, to rifle through his bookshelf, to rearrange his kitchen cabinets, to melt his heart with a small smile like it was nothing special. Like it was the natural order of things. Like it was the sort of thing that happened each and every day.

Brienne had taken Jaime’s idle remark for what it was, and made light of it. No matter. He would ask her again. Ask her properly and hope.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've worn men's shirts since I was a teen for the exact same reason as Brienne, and the fic just went on from there.
> 
> As always, all comments are very much appreaciated. Or give me a shout at Tumblr (I'm katajainen there as well).


End file.
